Lost Legio IX: The Karus Saga

by Marc Alan Edelheit

  “Note whatever you find,” Karus said.

  The edge of the first of the two suns peeked up over the wall and shined brightly in Karus’s eyes. Blinking, he stepped aside so that the merlon blocked its direct light.

  “Has anyone here heard of Xenophon?” Karus said and was almost immediately answered by several frowns.

  “That Greek general from antiquity?” Otho asked.

  Karus turned to the prefect of the First Nervorium with raised eyebrows. He had not expected anyone other than Felix, whom he had already told, to know about Xenophon’s experience. Otho was clearly well read and possibly even educated. His respect for the man increased.

  “Yes,” Karus said and then returned to addressing the other officers present. “Xenophon came across an abandoned city that was larger than any other he had ever seen back in Greece. It shook him to his core. My point here, gentlemen, is that this,” he gestured out at the city, beyond the battlements, “is not a unique occurrence. It has happened to others before us. We have a mystery on our hands, and, if possible, we need to un-puzzle it. Keep an eye out for clues.” Karus paused, noting several of the centurions nodding. Karus clapped his hands together. “I think we have taken enough time here. We’ve all a lot to do today, so let’s get to it.”

  The senior officers broke up, moving past the two sentries and into the guardhouse, heading back to their commands. Tribune Delvaris remained behind.

  “What of me? Where should I be?”

  “You,” Karus said, “will stick with me and the First. Now, what say we explore this city and see what we can find?”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The street was unnaturally quiet. Even the men of the First were hushed, the only sounds being their sandals cracking and smacking on paving stones. That and the occasional clipped order from an officer. Karus walked in the middle of the street, Delvaris at his side. Stone faced buildings lined both sides of the street, which seemed to be the main way up to the crown of the central hill.

  First Cohort, operating by centuries, had broken up to search the buildings to either side and those just adjacent stretching outward several streets. The cohort was spread out both ahead of Karus, behind, and off on the side streets. An hour before, they had entered a more affluent section of the city. Unlike the humbler areas, many of the doors had been locked and required a forced entry. A fence around a garden was dismantled and several men from each century now carried a stout support post which acted as a makeshift battering ram. Two or three determined blows was all it usually took to break a lock or shatter a barred door.

  Karus had entered a few of the larger residences himself. Filled with luxury and splendor, he found himself wondering what it would be like to have such a carefree lifestyle. At first, he figured it would be great, having to do no real labor yourself, with slaves at your beck and call. But then what? Karus thought, without anything to do, he might be bored. He had once owned a slave, a kindly older German by the name of Baalow, who had acted as his manservant. It hadn’t lasted. Karus led a simple life, with few possessions. There had not been enough for Baalow to do. Besides, Karus preferred to do his own cleaning and maintenance of his kit. So, he had sold the German.

  Karus had also found the experience of exploring these empty homes unsettling. Treasured personal possessions, including jewelry, had been left behind. Karus had even seen folded laundry, tunics fresh from cleaning left out on a table in a bedchamber’s anteroom. It was as if the people had just walked away only moments before. The thin layer of dust that coated everything gave lie to that feeling. There were no people, no animals, no pets, and, surprisingly, no real pests. There were bugs, but Karus had not once seen a rat, or even the commonplace droppings from rodents. It was damn strange and added to his unease.

  “Any city or town I’ve ever visited,” Karus said to Delvaris, “has more rodents than people.”

  “There are no cats either,” Delvaris said. “Back in Eboracum, the garrison was overrun with cats, but here … ”

  “Have you ever been bitten by a rat?”

  Delvaris shook his head, looking horrified at the prospect.

  “I have,” Karus said with some distaste. “Their teeth are sharp as knives and they usually get you when you are sleeping, exposed fingers, toes. Black rats are the worst, always chewing, always on the hunt for something edible. They and the mice get into our stores. Not only do they eat our food, but they can gnaw their way through leather fittings and ropes, doing serious damage to a man’s equipment. Cats keep the rodent population in check. It’s why most legionaries are overly fond of the furry little bastards. There is not a century in the Ninth that has not adopted a cat. The men name them and treat them as pets, though a cat will likely scratch you for petting it half the time.”

  “I never knew,” Delvaris said.

  Karus wasn’t surprised. The tribune was just a junior aide. He was still extremely green and had not been with the legion long enough to understand why things were done a certain way. Most officers of his rank cared only for their careers and sucking up to the legate. They rarely, if ever, took time to pay attention to the men. It was up to the centurions to keep order and interact with the legionaries. To tribunes like Delvaris, the men of the legion were only a means to an end, which was the ultimate furtherment of his career.

  “I thought they were just pets,” Delvaris continued with some surprise, “kept to dull the boredom and take the harsh sting out of their miserable lives as rankers.”

  Karus glanced over at the tribune. As a ranker himself, Karus found the tribune’s attitude deeply offensive. But that did not mean he failed to understand the honesty behind the statement or where it came from. Delvaris was born into a class of rank and privilege. A life Karus would never know. His contact with the lower class had been limited. He could not be blamed for that, but perhaps he could be shown that those of his social station were not so dissimilar to those in the ranks. It was something to think on.

  “Cunning, sharp-witted little critters cats are,” Karus said, recalling a few of the cats he had personally adopted over the years. “One cat can kill hundreds of mice and rats every year. That saves on stores, equipment, and bites. So, the legion imports cats and the legionaries value them not only for the service they perform—prevention of sickness, as bites can go bad and make a man sick—but they identify with them as crafty hunters skilled at their craft.”

  Delvaris said nothing. However, he seemed to be hanging on every word Karus said.

  “Wherever the legions go,” Karus concluded, “you typically find cats.”

  “I guess the legions just haven’t been here yet,” Delvaris said with a cheeky look.

  Karus chuckled, but it got him to thinking again.

  What happened to the people? The rodents? The legions weren’t the only ones who kept cats. They were widely used everywhere, just more so in legion camps. So, where were all the cats?

  Thud!

  Karus turned at the sound. A century was working on smashing open another locked door. Painted a bright red, the door had a solid look to it. With two men on either side of the makeshift ram, they swung the stout post while the rest of the century stood by at the ready, swords drawn, shields up.

  Thud!

  The four swung back again and then forward. With a loud splintering crack, the door crashed inward, revealing a darkened antechamber beyond.

  The breaching party dropped their post and stood aside. Their comrades, who had been waiting, moved cautiously forward. Following each other, they entered one by one.

  Karus studied the exterior of the building. The closer they got to the city’s center, the more upscale and grand the residences became. He figured it had something to do with the proximity to power, in that those with money wanted to be near the ruler of this city. It was a social class thing. Yet, Karus understood they were in a strange land, where one was sure of nothing.

  Karus turned to look on the opposite side of the street. A similar scene was o
ccurring there too. A century was moving up several wide marble steps that led to a set of large double doors. The junior centurion leading the century tried the door and surprisingly it swung open. Karus looked over the building they were about to enter. To either side of the entrance, great rounded marble columns rose twenty feet in height to support an arched roof that was tiled over in red. The marble columns were exquisitely carved and shaped. The roof sported two statues near the summit that looked like representations of the gods, somewhat like what Karus had seen in Roman cities. What gods they were, he could not discern. The shrines that had been found in every home were nothing like the ones Romans kept.

  Karus’s eyes roamed over the exterior. The residence was massive. Though now, he suspected, like the others it was an empty shell. The family who had once spent their days living in comfort and ease amidst fabulous wealth was gone. Only the possessions they left behind remained, a hint to whom they had been, nothing more. Movement drew his attention back to the open doors.

  “Come on, you maggots,” the lead centurion called. Sword and shield at the ready, he stepped through the entrance. Like the tail of a great serpent, the entire century followed, one man after another disappearing into the building. Karus had seen this happen dozens of times as the First worked its way deeper into the city. The searching of each building was time-consuming. Worse, frequent halts were called to keep the cohort from becoming too strung out, as the larger structures sucked up more time and attention.

  Karus had been sorely tempted to speed things up by giving the order to push forward directly to the palace district. He had never been inside a palace and he could not deny that he was more than a little curious. Despite personal interest as to how the powerful lived, he hoped to find answers to some of his questions there, as it was the logical place to look.

  Karus tapped a sandal, his irritation growing again.

  “What is my rush?” Karus asked himself, frustrated with both his impatience and the time it was taking to make progress toward the center of the city. At this pace, they might arrive by nightfall.

  “Karus?”

  He turned to look at Delvaris, realizing that he had spoken the last aloud.

  “Nothing,” Karus said, annoyed with himself that he had let his impatience show. “It’s nothing.”

  “Our progress is maddening,” Delvaris said, clearly having taken the measure of Karus’s thoughts.

  “Get used to it,” Karus said. “That’s one thing serving in the legions will teach. To do anything right, or even, for that matter, wrong, takes time. Heck, anything the army does takes time.”

  A century just ahead entered the next building. Up and down the street it was the same scene. Karus began moving with the hopes that it would lessen his exasperation. Several buildings farther up the street, they came to a large open market in a square, complete with stalls and businesses. Advance centuries had already searched through it, as evidenced by the large chalk X that had been placed on the front of each building. Karus could see the lead centuries just beyond the market, continuing the advance up the main street lined with what appeared to be well-to-do residences.

  Karus made his way over to a stall that fronted what appeared to be a leathermaker’s shop. The smell of new leather and open curing vats was strong, even before he entered. A few samples of the goods produced by the leathermaker hung in the stall, though it looked as if both the stall and shop had been picked over by looters. What was left were only scraps.

  Karus stepped through the stall and into the workshop. He paused in the entrance as Delvaris moved past him, probing deeper into the darkened workroom. Karus glanced around. The workshop comprised a single large room with a few long tables, workbenches, racks, and vats for curing. It was a mess. Discarded sandals, boots, and scraps littered about the floor as if they had been tossed there by a maddened crowd of children.

  He bent down and picked up a sandal. The leather felt different than he was accustomed to. It was softer, smoother. Perhaps it had been the craftsman who made the difference. The market was located near those of means. As such, it likely catered to the wealthy. Those with money, Karus considered, were used to the finer things in life. He turned the sandal over in his hand. It was of an unfamiliar design. Karus reasoned it had been made for a civilian and comfort, not for a soldier like him. There were no hobnails for gripping. Losing interest, Karus tossed the sandal aside. It landed with a soft thwop on the floor.

  “What respectable craftsman would leave his tools behind?” Delvaris asked. The tribune was standing before an old table heaped with scraps of leather. He was holding up a pair of rough scissors that were made from one piece of metal. He tested the edge. “Sharp too.”

  Karus moved over to where Delvaris was. A series of brackets affixed to the wall next to the table held a varying assortment of tools. He picked up one that looked like a miniature war hatchet. Karus turned the tool over in his hands, wondering on how the leathermaker used it. After a moment, he gave up but recognized from the well-worn grip it was a tool that saw frequent use.

  “You are right,” Karus said. “A master takes years to accumulate tools like these. It is what sets him aside from others, apprentices and journeymen. These,” Karus gestured to the wall rack, “represent a life of hard work.”

  “Then why just leave them?” Delvaris’s brows drew together. “If it takes a lifetime, why would the master not take them along?”

  Karus tossed the tool on the work table. It landed with a muffled clang. He held the tribune’s gaze a moment and shook his head. He did not have an answer. Karus took one more look around and then left the workshop with Delvaris following.

  They entered the next shop, a smithy. A wide range of finished products were scattered around the floor. More had been set on crude wooden shelving that not only ran the length of smithy, but also went from floor to ceiling. Despite the abundant amount of shelving, nothing had been arranged neatly. Karus suspected that this was not the result of looting, just the smith being a disorganized fellow. Blacksmiths were notorious for this sort of thing.

  Karus sneezed. The shop stank of burned coal and old wood smoke, specifically ash. There was also something sweet on the air that he could not quite identify. It smelled a lot like beeswax.

  Karus moved around the shop. He recognized wagon wheel hinges and pins. There were door handles, nails, and even weapons, some of which were only partially completed or looked to have been forged with flaws and then discarded. The latter, Karus decided, was the work of an apprentice. Karus glanced into several large wooden bins along the back wall. These were filled to varying degrees with ore.

  Karus picked an ornamental bronze door handle off one of the shelves. It had been polished to the point where the metal gleamed. Despite the disorganized nature of the shop, the craftsmanship was notable. It spoke of a smith who was quite skilled, if not a master of his craft.

  “Look at this,” Delvaris said, having approached the main forge, which had gone cold long ago. The tribune pulled an unfinished blade from a bucket of brackish water and held it up. Water dripped from the sword. “Why start something you are not going to finish?”

  “Everything we’ve seen so far would indicate that the evacuation of this city was not well planned.” Karus paused. “It might have been made quickly.”

  “What were they fleeing?” Delvaris asked.

  “I wish I knew,” Karus said with a heavy breath. “I really wish I knew.” He surveyed the interior once more, then turned and exited the shop.

  In the middle of the market square was a large communal fountain. The centerpiece of the fountain was a heavily muscled nude man. The statue was exquisitely carved. In one hand he held a trident, and in the other a scepter. Jets of water sprayed forth from the tips of the trident, falling into three arcs that cascaded down into the pool of water below. Clearly, this was a representation of a god. Though there were similarities, it looked like no statue of Neptune Karus had ever seen.

  He ap
proached the fountain, studying the god carefully, almost warily. The sound of the falling water was relaxing. The pool into which the water fell was a good ten feet around and two feet deep. The water was clear and free of major debris, a sign of recent maintenance. Karus dipped a cupped hand into the water, which he found surprisingly cold. He tasted the water. It was fresh, and clean. He could well imagine slaves crowding around the pool and drawing water into jars, casks, and barrels for their masters.

  Standing back, Karus looked over the statue of the god once more. It was an impressive piece of work. The cold, clean water could only mean one thing. The fountain was aqueduct-fed. Somewhere, fresh water was carried into the city. Karus wondered if this city had bathhouses. He certainly hoped so—it had been weeks since he had properly bathed.

  Karus turned around in a circle, looking over the square. Delvaris was just emerging from another shop. He ducked into the one next to that, which, by looks, was some type of rug merchant. Karus studied the square. At least five large streets converged upon it, likely feeding customers to the craftsmen and merchants that had set up shop here. Besides his soldiers, the place was thoroughly deserted. Again, he wondered where all the people had gone. Did the gods transport them away even as they brought the Ninth here?

  A shout up the street drew his attention. Pammon was standing just beyond the square, shouting at a legionary who had appeared on the roof of a building opposite to him. The senior centurion of the First tapped his foot impatiently. Two centuries stood with him in the event there was trouble.

  Karus made his way over to Pammon.

  “Find anything?” he asked.

  “Plenty,” Pammon said, with a sour look. “Just no people.”

  “Make sure your men stay alert,” Karus said. “It will be easy to become complacent.”

  “They are on edge as it is,” Pammon said. “I don’t think we have to worry about that, at least not for an hour or two. Then they will become tired and lazy.”